


The Siren of the Lost Seas

by verboseDescription



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (She Gets Better), Death, Drowning, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, The Desolation, The Lonely - Freeform, The Lukas Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26148622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verboseDescription/pseuds/verboseDescription
Summary: Statement of Ophelia Lukas, regarding the day she drowned, and the ship she drowned with her.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	The Siren of the Lost Seas

[A TAPE CLICKS ON TO THE SOUND OF ROLLING WAVES AND MUSIC. A STORM IS BREWING]

GERTRUDE

_(shouting)_

I know you’re out here.

[THE SOUND OF SOMETHING SPLASHING ON A DECK]

OPHELIA

What brings you to my waters, Archivist?

GERTRUDE

I’ve brought a gift.

OPHELIA

Oh?

[A VIOLIN IS PLAYED FOR ONE LONG NOTE. THE STORM QUELLS]

OPHELIA

It’s been a while since I’ve had any music. Not that it matters, I suppose. I won’t be able to play it.

GERTRUDE

Yes, ah, it does seem like that would be quite difficult with fins.

OPHELIA

It’s a lovely reminder of everything I’ve lost. I think I’ll keep it anyway. Are you here for my statement?

GERTRUDE

Would you believe me if I was just passing through?

OPHELIA

No. _(pause)_ You may ask, if you’d like. I know I’m a bit of an oddity. I’m sure it makes you… curious.

GERTRUDE

It does.

OPHELIA

Then I don’t mind. At the very least, I know I’m better than that cult you find yourself involved with.

GERTRUDE

So you do see yourself as Desolation? Not the Lonely?

OPHELIA

I’m Lonely enough to be invited back to family gatherings. But no, that was never the life for me. I’m much more interested in the unforgiving nature of the sea than causing a peaceful disappearance.

GERTRUDE

I see.

OPHELIA

I suppose you need a name for a statement, don’t you? 

GERTRUDE

It would certainly help.

OPHELIA

Then you may call me Ophelia.

GERTRUDE

And here I assumed your family was entirely without humor. Very well then. Statement of Ophelia Lukas, regarding her worship of—

OPHELIA

No, that’s not right.

GERTRUDE

I’m sorry?

OPHELIA

This will be a tale of Desolation, yes. But before there was any worship, there was loss. My loss.

GERTRUDE

Hm. Very well. Statement of Ophelia Lukas, regarding the day she drowned. 

OPHELIA (STATEMENT)

To understand me, I must first tell you about my parents. I know you did not ask for a history lesson, but you must understand that legacy is everything to a Lukas. Even my waters can’t cleanse me of that.

My mother’s name is Penelope Lukas. My father’s name has been lost to time. I don’t believe I was ever given the full story on that matter, but from what I can gather, this was the fault of my mother. 

It wasn’t an intentional slight, mind you, but I suppose that made it worse. She, like most of my family, had only ever seen marriage as a way to increase the loneliness of the world. My family tells me he was a sensitive man. The affection my mother could give was not enough for him, and he fell ill. He would beg her to give him some show of love, convinced that would be the thing that saved him, but she could not call him by a name she did not remember. And why would she? What importance was he to her? My father was just a husband. Just a man. And with me growing in her stomach, my mother had no need for that.

So he gave up. 

He wanted to live more than he wanted her, and so he devoted himself to our family patron. 

But the loneliness didn’t change him. Not in any way that mattered. He never recovered from his illness. And he still pined for my mother. So much so that he’s said time and time again that until Penelope Lukas calls him by his name, he will have none.

My aunt has told me this part of the story many times. All of my relatives have.

They call my father _Ulysseus,_ and mock him for his love. They say he had always wanted a large family, but _large_ does not always mean _kind,_ and the tale I heard was without mercy.

Ulysseus, poor Ulysseus. Still so far away from home, still desperate for his darling Penelope, even as she spends her days surrounded by suitors. Surrounded by men who have forced their ideals upon her, who have set themselves up for heartbreak because she would tilt her head or sigh, and they would interpret that as reason enough to leave a fiancee, or proclaim their love in some other dangerous and sick way.

Every one of them assumed she felt something special for them. That they could give her something no other man could. The reality is that my mother was trained out of attachment at a very young age. She did not know how to love them. She only knew how to keep them desperate.

It was, I assume, very lonely.

It's easy to trick yourself into believing that's love. As a child, I assumed that love was any strong emotion and convinced myself that if these men felt this way from my mother, then my father, who had actually married her, must have felt it ten-folds. And if he loved her, well, he must have loved me. How could he not, when I was a product of their union?

But of course, I knew this wasn’t true. My father did not love me. My family refused to indulge in fantasies that suggested otherwise. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that they delighted in my fantasies. What better way to create a lonely child than to destroy all attempts at comfort? 

But no matter what they said, I held onto the man I imagined my father to be. The more lonely my family wanted me to be, the more I dreamed of one day escaping my home and finding comfort in his arms.

I believe I first left home at sixteen. I was still a child, and had no idea of the outside world, so I ran out of money fairly quickly and was forced to return within a month. A part of me had hoped that I would come home and find that I had been missed, but once I returned it was clear that I had never once entered their minds. So I left, and resolved not to spare another moment thinking of them. If they didn’t care, neither would I.

I spent my days traveling. My father was hard to find, especially with so little info to go on, but I had heart. If I could keep my love alive being raised by my mother, then I was strong enough not to lose faith after a few months of searching.

And then of course, ‘a few months’ became a year. And a year became two, then three.

I found nothing, aside for a new depth to my loneliness, but I still refused to return home. There was nothing waiting for me there. And the ocean which had carried me through so many of my travels was more of a comfort than my mother had ever been. I found myself employed on a small cargo ship. I didn’t have all the necessary muscles at first, but I was willing to work for little pay and no complaints, and so I found myself a job easily enough. There were still a fair amount of sailors who believed that bringing a woman onto your boat would anger the sea, so I wore men’s clothes and kept to myself. I didn’t need them to like me, after all. I didn’t need friends, no matter how much fun they seemed to have, singing and laughing together as they went about their days. They were right to have their suspicions about me, at least in that regard. I wasn’t raised to understand that kind of camaraderie. I would have found some way to ruin it completely.

But it was fine. I didn’t need them. All I needed was to find my father.

I looked for him in every port. Asked everyone I could find if they knew a man that fit his description. If my crew wasn’t going in that direction, I’d change ships. Most of the captains who’d hire someone so quickly weren’t anything but trouble, but I wasn’t looking for good men, just free travel.

I wrote down everything I could find in a journal I kept with me at all times. It’s gone now, of course. It drowned along with me. But before it fell into the sea, it was quite an expansive piece of literature. I wrote down every story, every possible next location and all the excuses I could think of as to why he’d go there instead of finding me. I also wrote down some shanties. By that point, it had been several years since I had played on any violin, and I was starting to miss it. No matter how much I insisted to myself that I was comfortable in my solitude, I couldn’t help but yearn for a day I could finally play something other than the mournful music I grew up on.

Another time, I told myself. A gift to myself, perhaps. To celebrate the day I finally found my father.

I’m sure you’ve realized it by now, but that day never came.

What I did find, however, was a cousin. His name doesn’t matter—you wouldn’t have heard of him—but when he saw me, he laughed. He almost didn’t recognize me. Not a surprise. In the time I had been gone, I had cut my hair, and years of working at sea had tanned my skin and strengthened my muscles. I was no longer a pale, waifish figure haunting the windows of my mother’s house. I was free. My wealth, though it could in no way compare to my actual inheritance, was my own. I had built myself a new life. I think I was proud of who I had become.

My cousin couldn’t understand something like that. He told me it was time to come home. I had indulged in this long enough, and a life of labor was unbecoming of a Lukas. I gritted my teeth and asked if he had any news for me. He said he did.

He told me that his father had met mine, and that he had warned my father that I was looking for him. And when my father heard where I was, he turned around and ran in the opposite direction.

It was a lie. Of course it was a lie. But it was a lie meant to harm me, just as every other word he had said was a wound in my side. He had always been an avid worshipper of our family deity.

So I killed him.

If you had known him, I think you would understand how justified I had been in that.

Of course, I didn’t kill him because he deserved it. I did it because I wanted to. Because I knew his father would miss him, that our entire family would miss the havoc he wrought. The world would be less lonely if he wasn’t in it, and I wanted my family to feel that loss.

He was the first man I drowned. I’m sure there were witnesses. The docks were empty that day, but ports were never so quiet that one could get away with something like that. Perhaps they didn’t see us. Perhaps that was his fault. All I know is that he, like most of my family, wanted to die a pitiful human death, and that was what I gave him. 

The next day, we set sail again. Months passed, and I received no punishment for my actions. No other family members came to condemn my actions. No one asked me to come home. No one called me a murderer. I was alone. And I was free.

And so I continued my search.

The day I drowned was not special. The ship I was traveling in was running out of supplies, but we weren’t unreasonably low. I believe at the time, we were shipping furs. A benefactor of the captain had put in a few requests for some hard to find cargo as well. None of us knew what it was, but we were certain it was illegal. A few sailors suggested that it may be cursed, or at the very least, bad luck, but I didn’t pay much attention. This was far from the first time I had heard rumors of cursed cargo.

I can’t say whether or not they were right to worry. I don’t believe I ever saw the object that had inspired so much fear. What I do know, however, is that the storm came at us suddenly. We had almost no time to hoist the sails or secure the cargo before the rain began. I remember being incredibly worried that thunder would crack the mast, but did my best to keep up with the proper storm procedures. One of my crewmates yelled at me for getting so close to the edge, but I could barely hear him over the wind. I should have been listening more closely. The deck was soaked with rain, and the sea rocked underneath us, doing her best to grab us off our boat. And I slipped.

It’s such an embarrassing mistake, but not even years of sailing could save me from simple bad luck. Every sailor knows how cruel the sea can be. Everyone knows that any trip could be your last.

No one tried to save me. I didn’t expect them to. I wasn’t a high priority. Barely any of them knew me, and they had their own lives to take care of. So many of these men had someone waiting for them at home. So many of them had something they were desperate to return to.

But I didn’t.

For the first time in my life, that didn’t make me feel lonely. Instead, I felt _anger._ How dare they so easily gain what I had spent my life searching for? How dare they have someone who would miss them? Who could comfort them? How dare they know love. How dare they be worthy of a miracle. How dare they have the chance to go home and tell this story, but give it a happy ending. That they might regale their children with the ferocity of these waves, but say that they knew they would make it out alive. Because they had someone to return _to._

It made me sick. And from the way the waves moved around me, I could tell I wasn’t alone. Someone else had fallen after me.

 _Good,_ I thought. I hoped his family missed him. I hoped he drowned thinking of them. I hoped he knew how much he had failed them.

My strength was fading quickly, but I still had time. Time enough to swim to him. Time enough to watch him drown before my consciousness faded completely.

The sea was calm the next time I opened my eyes. Somehow, I found myself floating on a piece of driftwood. Barely any of the boat remained. I could see more bloated bodies than splintered wood, and our cargo was nowhere to be seen.

I soon realized that the storm had changed my body as well. It had allowed me to be reborn in a shape fit for the sea. My hands and feet were now webbed. My teeth sharp, like a shark’s. I could see and breathe underwater without difficulty. At the time, the fins on my arms and legs were barely more than stubs, but they grew stronger with every sailor I drowned. There was a time when, even with my fins, I could play the instrument you gave to me, but the more gifts the sea gives me, the less able I am to masquerade as the woman I once was.

In that moment, I knew none of this. I was nothing more than a dead thing surprised by her claws, still human enough to shiver in a breeze. I soon realized that the graveyard surrounding me had all been my doing. I had asked the sea to take these men, to rip them from their families and friends, and the sea had answered. I had spent months of my life on that ship, but because of my selfish desire, they would remain lost forever. No one would ever know what had happened here, or where their bodies remained. No one but me. And for my crimes, I would be condemned as well. From that moment on, I would be nothing more than a cursed spector, haunting the sea with an anger that would never again leave my soul.

And for that, I feel nothing but joy.

GERTRUDE

And yet you’ve still shown mercy.

OPHELIA

Not without reason. There was a woman, once. I could see she was marked for the sea. I let her out of my waters so that she could find her own.

GERTRUDE

And the sailor?

OPHELIA

_(Embarrassed)_

The song he sang sounded so familiar… I thought… it seemed wrong, to rob the world of that.

GERTRUDE

How very kind of you.

OPHELIA

Kind? He will never sail again. His livelihood was stolen from him, and I was the thief. I’m sure his daughters would thank me for sparing him, but that does not mean he’ll be without hardship.

GERTRUDE

Yes, I am aware of how your kind works. And how exactly does your family feel about you rejecting their path?

OPHELIA

These waters of mine cannot be found on a map. I know what they call me. This is a lost sea, and I am its siren. It is dangerous to enter, and harder still to leave.

I speak with them when I have reason to. I feed the sea, and in turn, the despair I cause adds to the loneliness of this world. They have gotten what they want from me, and I want nothing from them. There would be no purpose in us seeing each other.

GERTRUDE

I see. And your father?

OPHELIA

He means nothing to me now. I suppose I could still drown him, but there’d be no use in that. The sea cannot feast on someone that would not be missed. I never bother killing men like him. If he does come my way, though, I may make an exception. The sea is fickle, after all. And so am I.

[MORE WAVES. GERTRUDE MAKES A SMALL NOISE OF SURPRISE]

OPHELIA

Goodbye, Archivist. I hope you find what you’re looking for. 

[OPHELIA DIVES OUT OF THE BOAT AND THE WAVES CALM. AFTER A FEW MOMENTS, SEAGULLS BEGIN TO SQUAWK IN THE DISTANCE]

[A TAPE RECORDER CLICKS OFF]

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago, but never posted it but the avatarsona zine getting set up motivated me to finish it up!  
> also i didn't want to edit the next chapter of banned book week but mainly that first thing. anyways, sometimes you just have to abandon countless men at sea in order to serve your deity (peter lukas do NOT interact)  
> find me on tumblr @ofdreamsanddoodles


End file.
